


Spontaneous

by thelookyouredoingthelookagain



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Confusion, Erections, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Masturbation, Therapy, helping hand, secret
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-02
Updated: 2015-05-02
Packaged: 2018-03-26 17:20:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3858670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelookyouredoingthelookagain/pseuds/thelookyouredoingthelookagain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John’s limp isn’t the only symptom of his anxiety. As always, Sherlock is ready with an idea to help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. John's Problem

**Author's Note:**

> All works here were produced by two friends in the fandom. One writes as SH and one as John, and we edit together. Our characters are based on the BBC's _Sherlock_ , though we don't mind playing a little loosely with canon and the occasional AU. We have whims and like to follow them. While we like to torture our boys with constant misunderstandings, we know they belong together and we always see to that.
> 
> All posted works are complete, and we hope there will be something for everyone. Please take a look at our other works. Just a note, though, there's pretty much always going to be smut. Sometimes fluff, sometimes angst, but always smut. We can't help it: that's just the way we are.
> 
> We plan to add new work each weekend, so please subscribe.
> 
> We also really appreciate the kudos and comments. They mean a lot -- sometimes they inspire new ideas and works, sometimes they just make us feel all warm inside.
> 
> Thanks for reading!

John was sitting in the waiting room at Ella's office, down to his last option. As a doctor himself he had been dragging his feet about seeing a doctor about this new . . . condition, but he was becoming desperate. The doctor he'd seen couldn't find a medical reason for it and suggested it might be his body dealing with anxiety in a new way. Anxiety was a brain thing, and brain things were Ella's thing. So here he was, sitting in the waiting room at Ella's and trying to figure out how exactly he was going to word this. 

"John? Come on in." Ella stood in the doorway and held it open for John who went in and took his usual seat quickly. "How are you?"

"Good, yeah," John said, nodding and looking around the room. 

"I haven't seen you in a while," she said. "Nightmares again?"

John shook his head. "No. I haven't had one in a while. There's something else," he started. "It happens really randomly so I can never really predict it but lately . . . I've been . . . well, I've been getting spontaneous erections."

Ella looked at him for a moment before nodding. "Well . . . is there anything new going on in your life? A new stress?"

John shook his head. "Just the same stuff. Cases and work."

"Is there a time when it happens more than other times?" 

John shook his head. "Sometimes I am sitting at home, other times it's in the taxi while we’re investigating, or a couple times it happened while I was working."

Ella jotted notes down and considered John again. "Okay. I want you to keep track for me. Don't write this on your blog but just keep a small notebook. Include exactly what you are doing, who you are with, and what you are feeling. We have to try and find a trigger before we can start to fix it, okay?" 

"All right," John agreed. They talked for a while longer, and John tried to feel like this was a step in the right direction. He walked home so he could stop at the shop and get a pocket-sized notebook. He was going to have to guard it with his life. And then he headed home. 

Sherlock had spent most of the afternoon with Molly in the morgue. He had quite a few notes he wanted to type up--rather he wanted John to type them for him. John was just better at the admin side of things. Plus typing notes was boring. He stopped to pick up some Chinese food, just to be nice and not in any way as a bribe. He unlocked the flat door and was surprised John wasn't home yet. He started to dish up the food.

When John came up, he smelled the food and smiled. He hung his coat and toed off his shoes. He came over and took one of the plates, mumbling "Thanks," before he started to eat. 

Sherlock looked over at John and tried to gauge his mood. He hadn't said anything about work, so maybe he'd had a bad day. Actually, he really hadn't said anything much at all. "How was work?" he asked.

"It was good today. Steady." He went back to his food. He wondered if Sherlock could read the visit on him. John didn't want to mention it. 

Sherlock watched John again. Something seemed off . . . or maybe John was just setting him up to avoid typing out the notes. No, wait, that didn't make sense -- John didn't know about the notes. Sherlock sat down and started to eat a little.

"Your day all right?" John asked, not really looking up from his food.

"Fine, good," Sherlock said. "Is there anything wrong? Is something wrong with you?"

"What?" John asked a bit too quickly. He looked up again and shook his head. "No, I'm fine. Did you see Molly today?"

"Are you going to type up my notes for me or not?" Sherlock asked.

"What?" John asked, taking a minute to think about what Sherlock was saying. "If you want me to. Why are you asking me like that?"

"No reason," Sherlock said. "Something seems off, but I'm not sure why."

John merely shrugged. "You know I like helping you with your work," he said, going back to his food. Maybe Sherlock could see the visit. John was grateful he hadn't mentioned it. So far he had avoided Sherlock noticing his embarrassing dilemma, and he hoped he could keep it that way.

"Okay, if you insist," Sherlock said. He pulled the notes out and slid them over to John. "Have you got any other plans for the evening? You've not gone out for a while. Have you given up on love or something?"

"No. I just haven't met anyone interesting lately," John said. He looked over the notes as he finished his meal. "I'm going to get started on these," he said, getting up and putting his plate in the sink. There were quite a few and he was slow. He also had work in the morning so he didn't want to be at it all night.

"Okay," Sherlock said. He started to tidy up the places. "Thanks, I mean."

John smiled and tapped the notes straight. "You know, my laptop is upstairs so I think I'll just go work on these in bed. Um, thanks for dinner," he added. He tapped Sherlock's arm awkwardly before heading up to his room. He couldn't predict when his condition would strike, and he couldn't risk it happening on the sofa in front of Sherlock.

Sherlock watched him go upstairs. Something still seemed off, and it was even more off now that he'd addressed the problem and John hadn't remedied it. He moved to his own desk and opened his laptop, checking him mail and trying not to think of what he had yet to figure out.

John typed up the notes slowly, carefully reading through them. He kept glancing down, making sure that everything was still normal. Halfway through, he was dozing off with the notes in his hand so he marked his place, saved the draft, and got ready for bed.

Nothing had happened tonight. He wished he'd stayed in the sitting room, but there really was no way of knowing. He hoped Ella would be able to figure this out soon because he was tired of worrying about it. He got into bed and set his alarm, trying to put his worries aside so he could sleep.

Sherlock read for a while, but then it became clear that John wasn't coming back downstairs. He turned off the lamps and went to his own room. He changed into his pajamas and got into bed, even though he wasn't really sleepy.

_Good night. SH_

John pulled his phone close and saw the message. He felt a bit bad having gone to bed without saying anything to Sherlock. Had he been waiting for John to go back down? He ignored the message and pretended that he was asleep, but that only made him feel worse.

After an hour he got up and made an obvious trip to the bathroom. When he came back he opened the message.

 _Fell asleep with the notes. I'll be finished tomorrow._ _Good night, Sherlock. -JW_

There. He lay down again and felt much better. He drifted off and had a restless sleep. The alarm was annoying, and it was hard getting out of bed. He got dressed and went down to start the kettle, making some toast as well.

Sherlock heard John in the kitchen, but he wasn't quite ready to wake up yet. He stayed in bed until he dreamt that John was leaving and then he got up. He slipped his dressing gown on and went out to the kitchen. 

"The kettle's just boiled," John said as he ate over the sink.

Sherlock poured himself a cup and then went to his desk. He wasn't quite awake enough so he didn't bother opening his laptop. He just sat there, taking small sips, and staring into nothing in between.

"Um, I'm off to work then. I'll try to get out early today," John said as he put his coat on.

"All right," Sherlock said. "I've got some work to do. I hope you're feeling better." He stood up and moved to the kitchen to make another cup of tea.

John didn't reply to the comment as he walked out. It was a nice enough day so he walked to the surgery, finding a full waiting room when he walked in. Patient after patient came in with different problems and John saw each one as quickly as he could. It was easy to be fast -- they were boring ailments.

Then, close to lunch time, it happened.

He'd just sent out his patient and was going to call in the next one when he felt his cock stirring, pressing against his pants. He announced that he was taking his lunch and he locked the door, pulling out his little notebook.

_1215, at the surgery, in between patients, a bit hungry, bored_

He looked at his words and tried to will it away. He didn't understand. He tried to think of what else to add. He jotted the date down. He didn't feel anything else. He waited, thinking about ordinary things, and finally it went away. He jotted down that time as well. Then he ate quickly and went back to seeing patients.

Sherlock spent the morning slowly waking up and the afternoon comparing some of the data from John's notes to what he'd previously been working on. He noticed the time and hoped John would be home soon. He got up and filled the kettle, clicking it on before, deciding he should probably actually get dressed before John got back.

The end of the day couldn't come fast enough for John. He sent off his last patient and left, walking home again so he could get himself sorted. He didn't have another one but it was awful, not knowing when he would.

When he came up he heard the kettle but didn't smell dinner this time. "Hello?" he called, going right into the kitchen and getting out the leftovers from yesterday.

Sherlock came out of his room. "Hello," he said. "Your day okay?" He poured two cups of tea but shook his head about the leftovers.

John nodded. "It was really busy today. How was your day?" He leaned on the counter and ate out of the box.

Sherlock glanced at John -- he was doing something completely John-like and saying completely John-like things. But there was a different feel that just made things seem off somehow. "Yeah, fine," he said. "Busied myself with work. You going out tonight?" he asked.

"No, I'm staying in. I want to finish your notes," John said.

"Okay. Shall we work together? I mean I've got some things I can finish and then we could watch a film or something," Sherlock said, not sure why he sounded so tentative.

John looked up at Sherlock and tried to control his face. It was odd that Sherlock was asking to spend time like this, but he didn't want to discourage it. "Yeah, Sherlock, I would like that."

Sherlock turned the kettle back on and moved over to his desk while it boiled. He brought his laptop over to the sofa and then went to pour two cups of tea. He brought those back, setting them both on the table, and then sat down on the sofa and opened his email. When John got his own laptop, he said, "Seems like we've not hung out together for a while." He kept his eyes glued to the screen as he spoke.

John studied his face before sitting down beside him. "I know, it does seem like a long time. Strange with us living together," he smiled and nudged Sherlock's arm as he opened his computer and found his place in the notes. 

Sherlock sighed a little. This was more like normal. He reached for his mug and took a sip and then began dealing with his emails.

John typed away slowly and finally finished Sherlock's notes. It was nice working quietly together. Usually Sherlock sat at the desk to work but John liked that he was on the sofa with him. And so far there was no incident on John's part so that made everything even better. When he finished completely, he tapped Sherlock's arm. "Want to review this before I post it?"

Sherlock closed up his computer and looked over John's notes. "This is really helpful, John -- just the way you reworded this section has already given me a few ideas. Obviously it's much easier when you're just here all the time so I can talk to you if I need to, but this is the next best thing," he smiled genuinely at John as he sat back a little. "Work time over now? I'll make another cup of tea while you choose the film."

John posted the blog entry and shut his computer as well. He got up and found a movie -- an action film he hoped would keep Sherlock's interest -- and got everything ready before going to the sofa again. 

Sherlock returned with some tea and biscuits. He flopped down on the sofa, pulling his legs up and leaning against the arm. "You're not going to get angry if I don't love the film, are you?" he asked.

"No, I'm well used to you now," John teased.

Sherlock smiled. "I'm used to you, too," he said. He held his mug up to his face, watching the television and trying really hard to not hate it. 

John watched the movie and munched on biscuits quietly. He turned to tell Sherlock something, looking to see if he'd missed what happened, but he froze. It was happening now. He wasn't sure what to do. He tensed and faced the movie again, putting his hands into his lap. He tried to think of anything else, praying it was too dark for Sherlock to see.

Sherlock was completely satisfied sitting there not enjoying the film simply because he was so relieved that things felt okay again. Then suddenly something changed -- things were off again and the atmosphere of the room felt strange again. He tried to think: what had happened to make things change? Nothing. Nothing had happened -- no one had said or done anything whatsoever. One moment things were fine and the next they were weird again. What was going on? He glanced over at John was still sitting there, staring at the screen. "You okay?" he asked softly.

John nodded quickly without looking over at him. He needed to get out of the room but knew that if he left suddenly it would only put more attention on him. He shifted in his seat, away from Sherlock again.

That was not a normal response. A nod without a look was not a normal response. Sherlock knew that. He knew that John didn't want to look at Sherlock which meant John didn't want Sherlock to look at him. But Sherlock did anyway. John's whole body seemed tense. He had his hands tucked between his legs except . . . they weren't between his legs actually. They were . . . what exactly was he doing with his hands?

John was having a time trying to think this one away. He felt Sherlock's gaze, and that seemed to be making things worse. "I need the bathroom," he said, getting up quickly and all but running into the bathroom. He pulled out his little notebook.

_2247, sitting room, watching action movie with Sherlock, just finished working on blog_

And that was all he could jot down before it was too much. He leaned over the toilet, pushed his clothes out of the way, and used a bit of lotion to stroke himself until he was quietly coming.

He tried to regulate his breathing as he put himself away. He flushed and washed his hands. None of this made any sense. He double checked himself and went out into the sitting room again, keeping his eyes on the film.

Sherlock tried not to make it obvious that he was watching John leave, but he did and he saw it: John had an erection. He disappeared into the bathroom. Sherlock could guess what that meant. His guess was confirmed when John came out a few minutes later and no longer had an erection. Sherlock did everything in his power to act like he didn't know what was happening. He'd have been happy not knowing but he did. He just wished he knew what it meant.

When the movie was over John shut off the telly and plunged them into darkness. The most observant man in the world must have noticed, and John just couldn't face him. "Well, I'm off to bed, I think." He stood and stretched, blindly making his way for the stairs.

Sherlock deliberately kept his face towards the telly, even as John got up and left. "See you in the morning," he mumbled. He waited until he heard John's bedroom door shut and then he got up with his laptop and went into his own room. He sat on his bed and opened a blank document. He started writing out some notes -- when he first noticed that things in the flat seemed odd and everything he could remember of what John had said and done (or not said and not done) since that time. He wrote down what happened on the sofa and how John reacted. He stared at the words for a while. Then he got into bed and stared at the words for a little while longer.

John pulled the covers right over his head with a heavy sigh. That's why it had been a while since they had spent time together. He'd been careless and he couldn't do that again. He couldn't have Sherlock knowing about this. He wondered what Sherlock thought about tonight, wondered what Sherlock had deduced. It didn't matter; John wasn't going to give him another chance. Until he figured this out he was going to have to avoid Sherlock.  
  
Sherlock tried to think. He wasn't an idiot or a child -- he knew about erections. Maybe John had got aroused by the film. Even though he hadn't really enjoyed it, Sherlock had paid enough attention to know that there wasn't much sexy in the film -- at the time it'd happened, all that was on the screen was a car chase and crash. Did John find that action arousing? It seemed unlikely -- they'd watch films like that before and John had always seemed normal.

Then Sherlock realised it wasn't actually the erection that made the vibe so weird, it was John's reaction. Obviously it was a bit of an embarrassing situation, but John and Sherlock had been through a lot of embarrassing situations before and usually they just laughed them off. That was one of the reasons Sherlock had finally been able to feel comfortable with another person. John did make him feel comfortable. But neither one of them had felt comfortable tonight.

John turned and set his alarm for a lot earlier than necessary, hoping to get out of the flat before he had tip face Sherlock in the morning. He buried under the covers again and tried to sleep, his mind still racing about why, why, why this kept happening to him.

Sherlock thought about what was going on until he fell asleep. He dreamt that John always had an erection -- he walked around the flat, went out on cases, did everything as usual but with an erection. When Sherlock finally asked him why he was always hard, John said, "I think you know" and then winked.  
  
Sherlock sat up straight in bed. He rubbed his face for a moment, clarifying that he had been dreaming and now he was awake. He thought about the dream. Is that why John had an erection on the sofa? Is that why the vibe in the flat had changed? Did John _want_ Sherlock? He lay back down and realised he couldn't even begin to think about that now. He did his best to clear his mind so he'd be able to go back to sleep.


	2. Sherlock's Deduction

John had a restless sleep that night, dreaming about his erection getting so big that he was knocking people over as he walked down the street, and still he was trying to hide it from Sherlock. As tired as he was when the alarm sounded, he was grateful for it. He showered and dressed quickly, skipped making tea or breakfast at home and left. He was going to have to see Ella today.

Sherlock woke when he heard John's movements in the flat but didn't get out of bed. He tried to will himself back to sleep, knowing that once he was properly awake, he'd have to figure out how to deal with the fact that John had designs on him, and he wasn't looking forward to that.

There were no patients when John first arrived. It was too early for anyone to really be in so he took a few minutes to get his thoughts together.

When Sherlock finally dragged himself out of bed, he got up, got a cup of tea, and opened his document from last night. He read it over again. He could think of no other explanation for John's reaction to what had happened. The erection must mean that John finds Sherlock arousing. It was an interesting but complicated situation. John had made it quite clear that he wasn't attracted to men -- but Sherlock was a man, what made Sherlock different? And besides, even if John had accepted that men were a reasonable option, they both knew John wanted a loving relationship to accompany the sexual desire and surely John knew feelings were not Sherlock's strong point. Sherlock couldn't help but acknowledge that since John had moved in, Sherlock _had_ felt things -- he worried about John, he cared about him, he enjoyed being with him, he wanted to be with him pretty much all the time -- but John wasn't interested in things like that; he wanted love. Sherlock knew the best thing would probably be to just confront John about what happened and why, and politely remind him that those things weren't really Sherlock's area. He knew that was the best thing to do, but the thought of it scared him a little.

When patients finally started coming in, John was pulled from his thoughts and he left them in the back of his mind while he worked. Focusing on other people's medical problems -- proper ones -- made it easier to forget his own. At the end of the day, he headed to Ella's office, hoping she could see him. When he got to the empty waiting room, he signed in and paced back and forth until she called him in.

Ella was trying to get her day organized when John arrived. She directed him in and said, "All right -- what's happened?"

"It's happening even more now," he said.

"Okay," Ella said, trying to keep her voice calm. "Have you found any similarities about when or where it happens?"

John shook his head. "I was at work, and then watching a movie at home," he said.

"Times of relaxation or heavy stress?" Ella asked.

"One of each," John said, trying to keep his frustration down. He knew it wasn't her fault, but none of it made any sense.

"Look, John, I know this is awkward and stressful," Ella said. "But if it's caused by anxiety, getting more anxious is unlikely to help." She took a small breath. "You're smart -- if it was something obvious causing the problem, you'd have already thought of that. Try to think of any small things that might be weighing on your subconscious mind -- something you've been meaning to do but keep forgetting about, an upcoming anniversary of something you don't like remembering."

John took a moment but he shook his head. "There isn't anything like that, really," he said. "I just . . . it seems so random when it happens." 

"How about any changes? Things different at work or at home?" she asked.

John shook his head. "It's been busier than usual but nothing dramatic."

"Everything fine at home? Sherlock's not been up to any tricks recently?"

"He's the same as always," John said.

Ella looked over at John. "Here's what I'm thinking," she said. "I know you are someone who longs for stability, but you are also someone who is more used to instability. Maybe that has something to do with this. I don't know . . . maybe it's some weird self-sabotage? Maybe what you need to do is not see it as such a bad thing. Convince your mind that this isn't a big deal. If you can't do that, at least just try not to think about. When you head home, don't wonder when it's going to happen. Think about what you'll eat for dinner. When you get home, don't sit there willing it not to happen, watch a film or read a book and only think about the film or book or whatever. Don't think about _it_. I know it's easier said than done. But try." She turned and grabbed her datebook and flipped through the pages. "You've got an appointment in four days -- try this and feel free to come back and tell me it hasn't worked."

John sighed. It had happened while he was watching a movie, so he couldn't see how that would distract him. "I'll try it," he agreed because there was nothing else to do. He thanked her and left, walking home and trying to only think about what he was going to have for dinner.

Sherlock had spent the rest of the afternoon focused on his work. When it started to get dark, he glanced at the clock -- John was normally home by now. What did that mean? He got up and filled the kettle, getting out two cups. He made one and carried it over to his chair, trying to get comfortable. Then he heard the door downstairs. John was home.

John came up the stairs. "Hello," he called out as he went to pour a cup of tea. He tried to stay calm. He was just going to be normal and not think about it, and he'd be fine.

"John, we need to talk," Sherlock said.

John froze mid sip and shook his head. "No, we don't," he said.

"Fine," Sherlock said. "I need to talk." He looked over and waited for John to sit down.

"You really don't," John said. He made his way into the sitting room slowly. "We don't have to mention anything about the . . . movie."

"Shush, I want to say something important and don't stop me please," he said. He took a deep breath. "I value our friendship very much," he said. "I do consider you a friend -- my only friend -- and I probably don't show you how much that friendship means to me." He took a sip of tea but swallowed awkwardly so he had to make a small cough. "However, I don't think a more . . . physical relationship between us would be a good idea. I'm flattered, of course, but I think it will just complicate things. I hope you understand and that it won't change our friendship in any way."

John opened and closed his mouth. Then a second time, and then a third. He took a deep breath. "I'm sorry -- what?"

Sherlock looked over. He thought he'd been clear. "I just am saying, let's not have sex, okay?" Sherlock said. Surely John would understand that.

John's brow went up in surprise. "I don't want to have sex with you," he said.

"You lie!" Sherlock said. "Of course, you do."

"No, I don't! Why do you think that I do?" John asked.

"Well, first of all, you've mentioned my good looks before and I'm obviously clever and charming," Sherlock said. He made a little motion towards himself. "But also . . . you got an erection just from sitting by me. Actually, that's the main reason, I guess."

John flushed lightly but he shook his head. "It wasn't because of you. It keeps happening lately, randomly, and I don't know why but it's not . . . it wasn't you," he said. 

"What are you talking about?" Sherlock asked, feeling incredibly confused.

"I've been getting random erections for a little while now. I started seeing Ella again, trying to find a solution." 

"Oh," Sherlock said. He hadn't considered that option. "I have my feelings hurt a little now," he said, taking a sip of tea.

"No," John said. "I mean, you're . . .handsome enough. It's just . . . not about that."

"I'm teasing," Sherlock said. "But wait -- if it's just some weird thing going on, why wouldn't you have told me?"

John shrugged. "It's embarrassing," he said.

"But . . . it's me. I thought we were friends," Sherlock said.

"We are, Sherlock. I'm sorry I didn't tell you. It's just . . . I was embarrassed," he said again.

"Fine," Sherlock said. "Even though I tell you embarrassing things . . . it doesn't matter. Anyway, have you got some disease then? Why are you seeing Ella -- shouldn't you be seeing a proper doctor?"

"There's nothing medically wrong with me. She thinks it's anxiety -- not that I'm feeling anxious all the time," he added quickly. "I don't know."

"Have you tried . . . you know, relieving yourself? Maybe you just need a . . . release?" Sherlock said. He was trying hard to keep his face as normal as possible. He felt a little embarrassed but after his big speech to John, but he didn't want to show it. 

John nodded. "A few times I can't make it go away and I have to. It still comes back. I'm getting a bit tired of it, actually."

"Interesting," Sherlock said. "Maybe you're just thinking about it too much." Sherlock realised he was thinking about it now and wasn't sure if that was odd or not.

"Well, it's hard not to when any second it could just happen," John said.

"Try to make it happen now," Sherlock said. He smiled a bit.

"Shut up, pervert," John laughed. "I'm not some side show for you!"

"Well, there you go, I've solved your problem -- just spend the rest of night trying to make it happen and you'll be safe," Sherlock stood up and took his mug to the sink. "Should I treat you to dinner? You know, since you've got an . . . issue. Should I be a supportive friend and buy you dinner?"

"Don't buy me dinner because you think I'm a weirdo," John smiled. "But it would be nice."

"I already thought you were a weirdo," Sherlock said. "Now I just think you're a perverted weirdo." He moved towards the door to get his coat. "We can go somewhere dark just in case your friend decides to make an appearance. Or will that be too romantic? I don't want you to get any ideas."

"You're not helping! Can we just be normal, please?" John asked as he followed Sherlock outside.

"I'm trying," Sherlock said smiling. "It's just the rejection that's making me act like this."

"I didn't reject you! Please calm down," John laughed.

They walked into the restaurant and Sherlock led them to a booth. They both ordered their usual and talked about their days as they ate. Sherlock was almost finished with the project he'd been working on. John talked about it being a bit slow at the surgery. They discussed their last case and when Sherlock confessed he hoped Lestrade would call with something new, John scolded him for looking forward to murder. Things no longer felt off between them, for Sherlock or John. Things felt normal again.

John was so relieved. If he had known that telling Sherlock would make things better, he would have done it right from the start. He wasn't really worried about it now and doubted there was going to be any more incidents.

Back at the flat, Sherlock poured them each a small glass of wine while John chose the film. Sherlock returned with the glasses and sat as he had the other night. "You sure my being here won't . . . bother you?" he asked. "I mean, I don't doubt I look particularly attractive and I wouldn't want to send you into some kind of frenzy." He smiled cheekily and raised his glass before taking a small sip.

"I'm going to dump this on you if you keep harassing me," John laughed.

"Don't start threatening me or I'm going to end up getting one -- that's the kind of thing that gets me going," Sherlock said, laughing as well.

John flushed and shoved Sherlock's arm. "Don't be weird," he laughed. He looked over. "Unless you're serious?"

"Hard to say really," Sherlock said, taking another drink. "It's been a while . . . maybe you're having mine on my behalf?" He laughed again.

"I've had enough of them," John agreed. "If that's how it works, then you should help me and take some of the burden." He was joking, of course, but he didn't look at Sherlock as he said it.

"I'll do what I can," Sherlock said. He set down his wine glass and settled in to watch the film. This was better than last night's, but he still found his mind wandering to his project and then the last case and then things he hadn't thought of in years and then he spent some time wondering why those things had made an appearance. When he could tell the film was ending, he tried to focus again, in case John wanted to talk about the movie.

John stretched with a loud yawn before slouching on the sofa a bit. There was no trouble, just as he'd thought. He felt good. "I think I'll go to bed," he said. It took him another minute to actually get up. "Are you going as well? Should I shut everything off?"

"Um, yeah," Sherlock said, looking around a bit. "I'm not sure if I can sleep yet but I'll take my laptop in to work if I need to." He stood up and stretched and then moved to his desk before he grabbed some water.

"You don't have to, I was just wondering," John said as he closed everything. "Good night." He raised his hand in a wave before heading upstairs, starting to get ready for bed. He lay down and, even though he wasn't supposed to be thinking about it, he couldn't help focusing on what a good evening it had been. At his next appointment with Ella he could tell her it was fine now. Through the same sort of basis that Sherlock used on his leg, he'd now helped with this. He turned on his side and slept much easier than he had recently.

Sherlock wasn't ready for sleep so he opened his computer and looked over his work from the day. Once he'd finished, he Googled spontaneous erections and then felt a bit funny about having done so, so he closed up his computer and turned off the lamp. He turned on his side. He wondered what John was anxious about and hoped it didn't have anything to do with him. Eventually he fell asleep.


	3. Sherlock's Solution

John couldn't have asked for a better few days. The surgery was slow and the patients weren't annoying, Sherlock was a working on something and not shooting anything, and John's little problem seemed gone. He hadn't had an erection in the last four days and with his appointment coming up, he was wondering if he should cancel it.

The day before he was supposed to see Ella, he picked up dinner and after he and Sherlock ate, he suggested they watch another film. He was enjoying hanging out with Sherlock this way.

Sherlock offered to do the washing up tonight. It was his little way of showing his gratitude that the flat felt normal again. He had meant what he said that night he gave his little speech -- he did consider John his only friend and he should tell him more how much he appreciated that friendship. He wasn't good with words so he decided to try to show it. He moved over to the sofa and looked over at the television. "Something more interesting tonight?" he asked, pulling his legs up under him.

"I've got the news on for now," John said, looking over at him with a small smile.

"Watch for potential cases," Sherlock said. "You working tomorrow? Maybe we should go down and see Lestrade since he's ignoring us."

"Is he ignoring us? Or are you harassing him?" John teased. "I do work. We can go see him after when I get home."

Sherlock stretched his legs out a little but not enough to touch John. "You know your little problem . . . is that better then?"

John nodded. "It hasn't happened since our talk. I might cancel my appointment with Ella."

"Do what you think," Sherlock said. "I'm glad you're feeling better." He smiled. "I hope you haven't gone the other way now . . . I mean, I hope you get one when you want one." He turned himself a bit on the sofa. "Let's watch a documentary instead of one of your stupid blockbusters." 

"Okay. And don't worry, I can still get it up when I want to," he said, watching Sherlock changing the channels.

"I'm not worried," Sherlock said. He watched the channels as John flipped through them. "Here -- let's watch this." It was a crime documentary and within five minutes, he was criticising the police investigation. "Perhaps we should expand our business internationally -- American cops don't seem any more clever than ours."

"When you're involved, no one else is ever clever," John said. "How will you fare flying to the States every other day?"

"You can go and report back to me," Sherlock said. He couldn't help but offer a running commentary through the rest of the documentary even though he thought it might be irritating John a little. When it was finished, he said, "I might go to bed. Will you text me when you're ready to leave work tomorrow afternoon?" He stretched a little. 

"Yeah," John said. He stretched and stood up, making his way for the stairs. "See you tomorrow," he said before heading up.

"Good night," Sherlock said. He fiddled with a few things on his desk and then made his way into his room.

John got ready for bed and lay down on his side, thinking about his appointment after work. He didn't need it. Maybe the anxiety was subconsciously that Sherlock might find out and now that he knew it was all better. He dozed off with those thoughts.

And then he woke up with an erection. He had turned onto his stomach and laid on it funny, pulling himself out of sleep. It was late, still the middle of the night, and this seemed to be the one that pushed John over the edge. He got out of bed angrily. The fact that it had been so long made it all worse, like he'd been tricked. He started pacing and willing it to go away. Out of spite he wouldn't touch himself. He paced and thought of other things.

Sherlock read for quite some time but didn't get sleepy enough to turn out the light for good. When his book started to bore him, he decided to email Lestrade to emphasize his need for some work. He got up and opened his bedroom door, slipping into the sitting room to get his laptop. He grabbed it and then thought he heard a noise from upstairs. He almost called out John's name but for some reason he didn't. He walked quietly up to John's room, standing outside his door, listening.

John carded his fingers through his hair desperately. His spite seemed to be making things worse, he was only getting harder, and he was tired of masturbating for nothing -- nothing but a stupid anxiety problem. He continued pacing.

Sherlock listened to John's pacing. Had he been doing this every night -- is that his anxiety was showing itself now? Why was John so anxious? And what should Sherlock do? He thought for a moment and then tapped the door. "John? Are you okay?" he said softly.

John jumped lightly and shook his head. "I -- I'm fine," he lied. He ran his fingers through his hair again. "I don't know what to do anymore," he admitted quietly.

"John, please, what's wrong?" Sherlock said. The desperation in John's voice made Sherlock's chest feel tight.

John went to the door and pulled it open. "It's happening again. I don't understand and I'm so . . . I'm so tired of it." He didn't even have the energy to be embarrassed, even with his pajamas bulging out in front of him.

Sherlock felt a moment of relief although he could tell John's upset was real. "Okay," he said. "Okay . . . let's . . . here, just lie down for a moment." He walked John over to the bed. "Just lie down here and try to take some deep breaths." He moved over to the other side of the bed and sat down.

John obeyed because he couldn't do anything else. He was out of ideas. "I just . . . I want this to stop happening," he mumbled as he counted his breaths.

"Are you in pain or is it just . . . uncomfortable?" Sherlock asked. His voice was soft and calm.

"It hurts a little," he admitted. He cursed his own stubbornness.

"Have you tried . . . you know?" Sherlock asked.

John groaned. "I don't want to again. I refuse. I just want it to go away," he sighed. He looked over at Sherlock. "I didn't mean to wake you up. You don't have to stay."

"I wasn't sleeping yet," Sherlock said. "Why don't I stay and distract you? Do you want to play a game or something?"

John shook his head. "I don't think that will help now. I don't think I can distract it away."

"Maybe you should look at it like a challenge," Sherlock said. "Try to make it last as long as you can . . . those adverts say that ones that last longer than four hours are dangerous -- maybe you should deliberately try to make it last that long." He swallowed. "Sorry -- I'm not making fun, I'm just trying to help you relax."  
  
"That's not very relaxing. And it hurts. If it keeps going, I guess I'll have to take care of it."

"So you can't think it away, you won't deliberately make it stay and you won't . . . wank it away," Sherlock said. "What about . . . if I did it?"

"What? If you did what?" John asked.

"You know . . . I mean, it wouldn't be . . . it'd just be my hand doing it," Sherlock said. "You could just relax and I'd just . . . make it go away and then you can go back to sleep." He hadn't really thought it out before he offered, but in a way it did kind of make sense. "I mean, it's clear it's not really a sexual thing, so I could just . . . do whatever you normally do."

John blinked at him in the dark. "Um . . . I don't think . . . I mean . . ." He didn't know what to say. He was desperate, but he couldn't believe Sherlock was offering this. "Why?"

"Why not?" Sherlock said. "I mean, if you don't think it'll help, then we'll just leave it. But when I was poorly that time, you looked after me . . . you're having a problem and if I can help, I will. It's not a big deal -- don't make it one or it'll end up just making things worse. If you'd rather just wait it out, I can just stay here or I can go back to my room . . . I just wanted to help."

He thought about that for a long time. He was just poorly and he needed help. "Um . . .okay, yeah," he nodded.

"All right," Sherlock said. "We don't need to talk about it, just . . . take off your pajamas and lie flat on your back. If I'm not doing it right, tell me -- otherwise just think about whatever helps and we'll just . . . take care of it."

John stretched up and grabbed the lube from the drawer. "Just use this, okay?" He pushed the bottle into Sherlock's hand and then, trying not to feel embarrassed, he pushed his pajamas and pants down to his knees. A hand was a hand and he could do this himself, and yet he wasn’t stopping this. He wasn’t stopping Sherlock. 

Sherlock put some lube in his hand. He lay on his side next to John, resting his upper body on one elbow. He wasn't sure what to say so he didn't say anything. He wrapped his hand around John's cock. It was very hard -- fiercely hard -- and he wondered if that's how it always was or if it was just because of John's problem. He started to stroke it, doing what he would do to himself. It'd been a while since he'd done it since he'd mainly done it when he was bored, and it seemed like a while since he'd been that bored. But he could remember what it felt like, what his body had desired, and figured he'd just go with that unless John said otherwise. The lube made his movements smooth. He didn't grip too tightly as John had said it was a bit painful. Once he got into a steady rhythm, he stopped thinking about anything and just did what he'd offered to do.

John closed his eyes and waited for Sherlock to touch him. When he did, John thought for a moment that he was dying. He'd waited so long and he was so sensitive that the touch sparked every nerve in his body. He gasped softly and squeezed his eyes shut tighter, gripping the bed beside him. Sherlock's hand felt good -- it was firm but not painful, slow and sure. He focused on that now.

Sherlock kept his hand moving. It was definitely an unusual thing to be doing, but it was also strangely familiar and even kind of comfortable. John helped Sherlock all the time. It felt okay to help him back. Sherlock kept the movement steady, but twisted his hand a little, occasionally moving over the tip.

"Fuck," John sighed, feeling the heat building impossibly more. "Sherlock . . ." he trailed off, he shouldn't have said Sherlock's name like that. "I'm-I'm close . . ." He brought one hand up and covered his mouth, and then the other and covered his whole face before he let go and came, quietly moaning behind his hand.

Sherlock stayed holding John through his orgasm. Then he wiped his hand on John's pajamas, rolled onto his back and then sat up, turning to drop his legs off the side of the bed. "Feel better?" he asked.

John nodded. "Thank you," he mumbled softly as he tugged his clothes back on. He wondered if he should tell Ella about this part.

"I'm glad I could help," Sherlock said. He stood up and moved to the door. "Good night then," Sherlock said. "See you tomorrow."

"Night," John said softly, watching Sherlock leave his room. The reality of what had just happened settled heavily on him, and he prayed they could go on in the morning as if nothing had happened. It was just one friend helping another, and that's what he kept telling himself as he tried to fall asleep again.

Sherlock moved quietly to his room, not bothering to take in his laptop. He slipped into bed and turned off the lamp. He lay there for a few minutes and then moved his hand under the covers, resting it on his own erection until it went away and he fell asleep.


	4. A New Problem

The next morning John called off of work and stay in bed for a lot of the morning, thinking about what had happened the night before. He couldn't go downstairs until he wasn't thinking about it anymore because things had to be normal. But now . . .there was the added trouble of the fact that Sherlock had been . . . well, it had felt good. Not because he was desperate or sick -- something more than that happened when Sherlock touched him. But it wouldn't do to think about that either. Eventually he felt it would be okay to go down, as if he had finally exhausted all of his efforts. He got dressed and went down to make some lunch before he left for Ella.

When Sherlock woke up, he thought about what he'd done last night. Yes, he decided, it was definitely fine -- a friend helping a friend. He was slightly less confident about why it had given him an erection, but he was pretty sure there must be a logical reason for it -- just a bodily reaction to the circumstance. John's body reacted to the stimulus of Sherlock's hand, Sherlock's body reacted to the stimulus of John's orgasm. Logic. That's all it was.

But for some reason, when Sherlock heard John in the kitchen -- later than usual -- he turned over in bed and pulled the covers up a bit. He was curious about why John was still home, but he couldn't deny that he felt . . . different. He needed more time to understand how he felt: emotional reactions didn't have the same logic as bodily ones.

John sat the table while he ate, glancing at Sherlock's door and wondering why he hadn't come out yet. Was he hiding from John? Maybe everything from last night wasn't okay. John ate faster, turned off the kettle and got his coat on. He could go to Ella's early so Sherlock could come out of his room.

When Sherlock heard the door close, he relaxed a little. He opened his eyes, stared up at the ceiling and thought about what he was feeling. Since John had moved in, Sherlock had slowly realised he actually liked him, liked having a flatmate, a friend, and even liked doing things for John.

But that's not what was going on right now. What Sherlock was feeling now was desire. He wished he could do that to John again. He liked sharing that with John. Those were rather unusual feelings. Not bad, not good, just unusual.

But they were also feelings he knew he'd have to keep to himself. John wasn't interested in that -- not with him, not with men, and after all the recent trouble, not with anyone at all probably at least for a while. Sherlock knew he wouldn't be able to do it again and knew that that was probably best. He cared about John and combining caring with that stuff turned a friendship into more, and Sherlock was still finding his feet as John's friend.

So he knew that his feelings of desire would need to stay in this room, for when he was alone. And since he was now in his room and alone, he slid his hand under the covers and held his hardening cock, stroking it like he had done with John's last night until he came, like John had done last night. Then Sherlock got up, took a shower, and moved out into the flat, ready to be like he had been before last night. He made a cup of tea and sent John a text.

_Don't forget to text when you're ready to go see Lestrade. SH  
_

John got Sherlock's text as he took his seat in Ella's lobby. It made him feel better about the whole situation.

_I skipped work and came to see Ella, I'll be home sooner than expected. -JW_

Sherlock wondered if John would tell Ella about what happened. It didn't matter, that was John's business. Well, his and Sherlock's. It didn't matter. 

_All right. See you then. SH_

John put his phone away and waited for Ella. To tell or not to tell? He sighed and fiddled with his fingers.

Ella opened her door. "Come in," she said. "Are you here to tell me that my suggestions were rubbish?" She smiled and moved to her chair.

"At first I didn't think they were. It had been so long that I almost canceled the appointment," John said as he sat down. "And then it wasn't."

"You'd better explain," she said.

"Sherlock and I were watching a movie, a boring documentary, and I went up to bed and it woke me up. I fell asleep and it woke me up."

"Well, John, you weren't expecting to _never_ have erections, were you? I mean, I was presuming, you'd want to have them again at some point. Has that ever happened before -- waking up with an erection?"

"Well, in the morning sometimes," John said. "But this was . . different. It was like these other times."

"In what way?" 

"I don't know. I just wanted to sleep, and it was there. I didn't want one then."

"Well, that's understandable," Ella said. "How did you respond? Did you feel irritated or did you . . . over-react?" 

"Irritated," John said. "I refused to deal with it and I was determined to ignore it but it hurt and Sherlock . . ." He trailed off. "Um. Sherlock helped me."

Ella rolled her eyes. "Of course, Sherlock fixed it . . . I don't suppose his magic touch was pretty much just my advice but in slightly different language? That's his usual strategy," she said, smiling a little.

"It was embarrassing," John admitted. "But when he did it . . ." He trailed off again because he didn't know what it was.

"When he did what?"

"You know what," John said, picking at a spot on his jeans

"That's surprising," Ella said. "Was that your idea?"

John shook his head. "It was his. He came up to my room."

"That's interesting," she said. "And you okayed it, I presume. Why?"

John nodded. "I was surprised at first. I was a bit desperate. And then I . . . I wanted him to," he admitted, looking down again.

"For the relief?"

John nodded. "And maybe . . . I don't know."

"Are you sexually attracted to Sherlock?" Ella asked straight up.

John flushed lightly. "I wasn't before but . . . but now I think I am."

Ella leaned a little forward. "Stop and think for a moment," she said. "Are you really attracted to him or did you just like the relief he provided? Neither answer is wrong, but they're different so you need to be clear."

John closed his eyes and thought about her question. "I want him to do it again. Even now when I don't have . . . a reason." He opened his eyes and looked at her again.

"This is quite big news," Ella said. "Are you going to tell him?"

John shook his head. "No way. He doesn't . . . he's not into that sort of thing."

"But wasn't he the one who came into your room and offered?"

"To help. It was a problem for him to solve, that's all," John said. "He doesn't do relationships o . . .or any of that."

"Well, he obviously does some of _that_ ," Ella said. "Look, you have changed so much since you moved in there -- even just admitting you are attracted to him -- that's a _big_ change, John. What makes you think he hasn't also changed?"

"He doesn't change -- he's not like everyone else," John said, but even as the words came out he knew it wasn't true. Sherlock was different now from the first day they had met, but John couldn't remember when it happened. "I don't want to ruin anything."

"But if you say nothing, isn't that ruining your chance of having the relationship you want with him?"

"I'd rather be friends than nothing," John said quietly. When did the appointment turn into this?  He'd come to talk about spontaneous erections and now . . .now it was this. Ella was better than he gave her credit for.

"Fair enough," she said. "We don't need to talk about it anymore . . . unless you want to say anything else?"

"I just want my . . . problem to go away and we can deal with this new one later," John said. "I can't keep having him fix it."

"Well, you could, of course, just keep trying what I suggested last time -- to stop thinking about it. You said it worked for a while, maybe try it again and it'll work for a while longer. In a few weeks, the problem should be gone," she said. "If that's what you really want to happen."

"Why wouldn't I want that to happen?" He asked, looking over at her.

"Don't play dumb with me, John Watson," Ella said, smiling. "If your problem stays, you'd have an excuse to get Sherlock's . . . help."

John looked down at his hand and watched his fingers open and close. "I want him to do it because he wants to. Not because I can't control myself."

"Just a thought . . . maybe the desire for Sherlock pre-dated the problem," Ella suggested. "Maybe subconsciously you knew you wouldn't address it . . . and so your body's kind of forcing you to. Just a theory, of course."

John looked up at her and didn't even know what to say. He swallowed hard and shrugged his shoulders. "I'd have known…at least a little, wouldn't I?"

"As I said, it was just a theory," Ella said. "But I guess I'm wondering . . . with your newfound interest, don't you think it's likely you'll have a hard time not thinking about potentially-erection-causing things at home?"

"But I can blame the problem," he said slowly, realising just then that she may be right. The problem may have been an excuse all along. "I'll have to tell him, won't I?"

"John, you know I don't tell you what to do," Ella said. "I imagine at some point you might want to tell him. But maybe you should wait until you're a hundred percent clear on what's happening. Maybe when you go home you shouldn't think about not trying to get an erection or trying to get one. Maybe you should just go home and think about whether or not you'd actually like to be in a relationship with Sherlock. Then decide what you want to tell him. What do you think?"

"Yeah, I'll do that," John nodded, only now he didn't know if he'd be able to stop thinking about the erections. It was like admitting it opened a flood gate. He wanted Sherlock to touch him all the time. But of course he couldn't have that. "Do you want me to come back before I make a decision?"

"You decide," she said. "I trust you to make good decisions -- trust yourself." She smiled a little.

John nodded. "I'll do my best. I have to go meet him for a possible case so I'll call if I need to come see you again soon." He stood and thanked her before leaving, walking home so he could think about everything they had talked about.

Sherlock was at his desk with John got back home. "We don't need to go," he said, getting up to put the kettle on. "Lestrade's sent something over -- not a proper case but something for us to work on." He looked over at John and smiled.

"Should I get my computer as well? What is it?" John appreciated that they were just getting right to business but in the back of his mind, he couldn't help looking at Sherlock differently now.

"Yeah," Sherlock said. He forwarded the email from Lestrade to John. "Look it over -- I was thinking you start looking into the guy and I'll look into the chemicals, okay?" He stood up. "Actually I need tea first." He put the kettle on and set out two mugs.

John went to get his laptop before sitting in the sofa and reviewing the email Sherlock had sent. Then he started researching the man involved, taking notes for Sherlock to look at after.

Sherlock got to work as well. It was nice having John back home and having something to focus on. After a little while, he looked up and noticed they'd been working for almost two hours now. "You hungry? Should we order something or are there leftovers?" he asked, getting up to refresh his tea.

"I don't think there's leftovers so we should order something," John said.

"Choose what you want," Sherlock said. "I'll take my usual from wherever you order," he added, kind of liking that both of them knew that pretty much meant John should order extra of whatever he was getting so that Sherlock could pick at it.

John got up and ordered Thai for delivery, sitting back at the computer to keep working while he waited for it to arrive.

Sherlock went back to work as well. When the food arrived, he stood up to go get it. "Should we take a break to eat and then you can show me what you've found?" he asked, setting the food on the table.

"Yeah, I've got a few pages here," he said. He put the laptop on the coffee table with his notes and took his food from Sherlock. "Thank you."

Sherlock scooped some food into a bowl and took a few bites. "Good choice," he said. "It tastes nice." He sat down in his chair and put his feet up on the table. "Everything go okay with Ella?" he asked quietly.

John flushed lightly and mixed his food around. "It was okay," he said quietly. "She just gave me some techniques."

"Good," Sherlock said. "Hope you can get it sorted soon . . ." He took another bite of food and then set the bowl down. He moved back over to the desk.

John nodded. He wondered what would happen if he told Sherlock Ella's theory. But he couldn't. Not yet.

Sherlock waited for John to finish his food. Then he carried his laptop over to the sofa and he and John swapped. He read over what John had found and could already see his theory forming in his head. He started to talk it out -- with John interrupting occasionally with helpful questions -- and eventually he felt it was clear. He took up his laptop and wrote it up, passing it to John for a quick read-through before they sent it through to Lestrade.

John laughed softly as Sherlock sent the message. "You go so fast you'll be bored again."

"I'm bored now," Sherlock said, laughing. He glanced over at the clock. "God, it's almost midnight. That was good, though. We're good when we work like that." He slouched down a little to stretch. "Do you have to go to work tomorrow?" he asked as he yawned.

John laughed. "See what I mean? You should let me try and solve it alone so we can stretch it out. You'll have a case every year," he smiled.

"Fine, the next one you can do alone. I'll just watch silently," Sherlock said. "Silently judging everything you do, obviously."

John grinned. "Well, at least that'll keep you entertained," he said.

"You asked for it -- from now on you can be the brains of this operation and I'll just be the pretty face," Sherlock said. He rolled off the sofa and stood up. "I think I'm going to take a bath before bed," he said. "I'm too tired to start something new but my brain's still going a bit too much to go to sleep."

Sherlock started the bath and then went to get his pajamas. He sunk down into the hot water and closed his eyes. He tried to clear his head, which took quite a while, as his body relaxed. He didn't fall asleep but he was gone and when he returned, the water had cooled so he got out and dried off. Once he was in his pajamas, he got himself one more cup of tea and said good night to John. He went into his room, got into bed and turned off the lamp. He fell asleep before he'd even had a sip of tea.

John was watching a movie and started dozing on the sofa. The third time he snapped his head up, he decided to go up to bed. He was thinking about everything that had happened tonight with Sherlock. Everything had been normal and he was happy. He could be happy with this. This was enough.

Sherlock slept quite peacefully for a while. He got lost in a dream. He and John were on a case on a boat and a man jumped them. John fell into the water and Sherlock dove in. When he came up for air, he was face to face with John who pulled Sherlock's hand down and pressed it against his erection. Sherlock stroked John's hard cock under the water as John kissed his mouth.

Sherlock opened his eyes. He was alone in his bed in the dark. There was no water. John wasn't here kissing him.

But Sherlock had an erection again. He reached down and quickly but quietly stroked himself until he came over his hand. He slipped off his t-shirt to clean himself up before lying back down. This was unusual. Maybe he shouldn't have sorted that work for Lestrade so fast -- maybe his brain was just bored and coming up with these strange urges. He rolled onto his side and went back to sleep.

Over the next couple days John couldn't help thinking about everything, even though he knew he wasn't supposed to be thinking about any of it. The difference now was that he was content with how things were going. Sherlock didn't do relationships, John didn't need to have one. They were good together.

They saw Lestrade who didn't have any cases, and still didn't when they bothered him the next day, and the day after. John checked the blog and worked, Sherlock checked his emails and complained. John didn't have any erections and Sherlock didn't ask him about his problem anymore.

At the end of the week John was at work when it became so slow that Sarah sent him home. He walked back, grabbing lunch since it was early enough.

Sherlock had got up when John left for work and had an email argument with Lestrade. He just wanted a case. He'd been enjoying spending time with John, of course, though, without a case, the good times with John were likely the cause of Sherlock's continued sexy dream problem. Was it a problem? Sherlock wasn't sure -- he didn't think it needed to be, though he was very aware that this was something he could never tell John.

Regardless, it was now a couple hours since the last annoyed email from Lestrade so it seemed stupid for Sherlock to sit there, waiting and staring at his inbox. He closed his laptop, got a glass of water, and went into his bedroom. He lay down on his bed. He closed his eyes and remembered last night's dream.

Sherlock and John had been in the woods -- were they playing hide and seek? They were together and then they were apart and he was looking for John, calling for him. And then John was behind him. Sherlock turned quickly and pushed John up against a tree, kissing his mouth hard and pushing his hand into John's trousers. 

Sherlock unzipped his own trousers and held himself. He imagined he was holding John, stroking John like he had done once but would probably never get the chance to do again. He imagined it was John holding him now, stroking him. He felt his hips moving a little, rocking with his hand.

When John came up to the flat he almost called out, but stopped just short. Sherlock had been on the computer late the night before and he might still be sleeping. He sat at the table to eat his lunch, putting Sherlock's half away in the fridge when he heard . . . well, no. It couldn't be what it had actually sounded like because Sherlock didn't do that sort of thing. Was he having a nightmare? John approached his bedroom door and listened closely. 

When he heard it again, he would have sworn Sherlock was hurt. He peeked through the small crack where the door was open -- if Sherlock was just dreaming, he would leave him be. But Sherlock wasn't dreaming. Or sleeping. He was touching himself, stroking his cock and moaning. John was rooted to the spot, unable to move away, unable to stop looking. 

Sherlock's face was warm, his whole body was warm, as his hand moved faster. He saw them kissing against that tree, their bodies rocking against each other like his now rocked on his bed. He wanted John to kiss him like that. He wanted it to be John's hand on him. He exhaled sharply and then came, his body freezing and then collapsing on the bed. He lay there for a moment, catching his breath, thinking about John.

John's mouth fell open and by some miracle he didn't make any noise. He stepped back silently and in his panic, left the flat completely and went downstairs to wait. Sherlock was masturbating. He was choosing to involve himself in sexual feelings. Was it possible he was doing an experiment? It seemed more likely than believing that he had changed so much. If it was an experiment, he would have no problem telling John about. John took a deep breath. He would go up and pretend he just got home. Then he would ask Sherlock if he did any interesting experiments today. if he didn't bring up the masturbation then it would mean that . . . _I can tell him about my feelings._ The thought made John's heart race. He made his way up the stairs and into the kitchen, starting the kettle and humming louder than he needed to. 

Sherlock heard the door open. Thinking it was Mrs Hudson, he quickly sat up and tried to straighten himself up. He took a deep breath and came out. "You should knock, you know--" he said before realising it was John. "Oh, I thought you were Mrs Hudson. I mean, I thought Mrs Hudson had . . . why are you home so early? Is something wrong?"

"No, it was slow at the surgery," John said, not looking over at him. But then he remembered he was supposed to be acting normal so he poured Sherlock's tea and handed it over to him, looking up at him. "I got lunch, if you want."

"Okay, good," Sherlock said. "I mean, I'm glad you're okay -- I'm not hungry." Sherlock took a sip of tea. That was too close of a call really, but Sherlock tried to act as normally as possible. "What are your plans? Are you going out or something?"

"No. I thought we could do something," John said. "Unless you're busy. Are you working on anything? An experiment?" He looked up at Sherlock over the top of his mug, sipping quietly and waiting anxiously. 

"I've been arguing via email with Lestrade. And then I was bored. So no, I'm not busy," Sherlock said. "I think I need a shower though." He moved over to his chair. "What'd you say -- a movie? That's fine."

The mug almost fell out of his hands. Nothing that Sherlock had said should have caused any distress but after what John had seen . . . _He needs a shower because he came on himself. When he was masturbating. For fun._ "Uh, yeah, I'll find something for us to watch while you clean up, I mean shower. Yes." He moved into the sitting room and tried to keep calm. 

"Right now? Are we in a rush? Let's just . . . in a bit, okay?" Sherlock said. He just needed things to be normal for a little while so . . . he could convince himself things were normal.

"Oh, yeah, okay," John said, sitting in his chair instead of the sofa for now. Was he going to say something tonight? Where would he even start? He needed to think about this carefully because he could still ruin everything. Just because Sherlock liked masturbating didn't mean he wanted to be John's boyfriend. _Oh god, I want him to be my boyfriend!_ He rubbed his face hard and sighed softly. 

"Okay," Sherlock said. He got up and moved to his desk but he checked his email and there was still nothing from Lestrade. "Why is he ignoring me?" he asked.

"He probably just doesn't have anything for you and he's tired of saying no," John said. "He will reach out when he needs you, you know that." 

"It's just frustrating, you know," Sherlock said. "Anyway, I might just take a nap or read or something." He stood up. "Sorry, I just got a bit thrown off by the day -- I was expecting a case and didn't get one and then I was expecting you later and you were early. I'm sorry, I'm . . . just going to go take a shower now."

"I could always leave and come back," he teased. 

"No, I'll get my head together in the shower," Sherlock said. "Sorry for being a big baby."

John gave him a slightly confused look. "Sherlock, it's fine," he said. "I'm not annoyed with you or anything. It's okay."

"Fine, it's okay," Sherlock said. "Everything's okay." He went into his room and grabbed some clean clothes. He tried smoothing out the bed, just in case . . . what? There's no way John would know what Sherlock had been doing. He slipped into the bathroom and got under the shower, scrubbing himself and washing his hair.

John watched Sherlock go, imagining him getting into the shower. Imagining him naked. Imagining the water -- no. He stopped very suddenly and stood up to pace. He had been doing so good and he didn't need to get an erection right now. Sherlock couldn't see that. What if he offered help again and John moaned out his name or something? No. He took deep breaths and thought about his job. For once his body listened. He picked out a movie and started the kettle again so they could have fresh tea when they sat down to watch it. Everything would be fine. 


	5. A New Solution

When Sherlock came out of the shower, he felt normal again. "Everything's okay now," he said. "Sorry about before." He poured the tea. "What'd you pick?" he said, nodding towards the television.

" _Iron Man_. I'm hoping the science part keeps your interest, even though it's completely wild," John smiled. He moved to the sofa now. 

"All right," Sherlock said. "But I can't make any guarantees." He sat down on the sofa and pulled up his legs. He took a sip of tea.

John started the movie and leaned back. He rubbed his neck and put his feet up on the table. 

Sherlock tried to pay attention but he quickly lost interest. Plus John was fidgeting a bit, moving around, and it was distracting Sherlock and annoying him a little. "What's wrong with you?" he asked. He wondered if John's issue was back.

John glanced over at Sherlock and shook his head. "Just . . .stiff," he said. Then he shook his head faster. "Not . . .not like before. Just here, in my neck," he said, rubbing it again. He leaned back to keep watching the movie, sighing softly and tilting his head as if stretching. 

"It's kind of annoying," Sherlock said. "I was really enjoying the film and your pain distracted me and now I'm lost." He smiled.

"Oh please, you were not enjoying the movie," he said, looking over at him. He rubbed his neck again and looked forward as if it had been difficult. Would Sherlock catch on? John wanted Sherlock to touch him again, to break the ice so John could follow up with what he needed to say. That way it wouldn't really be out of the blue. He hoped anyway. 

"Oh for God's sake," Sherlock said shifting a bit. "Where does it hurt?" He reached up and rubbed John's shoulder. Then he realised he was touching John and the last time he'd touched John was in his bedroom. He wasn't sure what to do -- he didn't want to stop but he didn't want John to get weirded out. But if he stopped too soon, maybe John would think Sherlock was weirded out. He mainly just didn't want to stop touching John, so he kept massaging him and then said, "Does that help?"

John turned so his back was more towards Sherlock. "Yeah, thank you," he said quietly, focusing on Sherlock's hands. This was the first time they had touched since . . . well, was it possible they hadn't even brushed accidentally? Had they been unknowingly cautious? Either way, this felt amazing. The heat pooled in John's belly and then his groin. For the first time in a while he wanted it to happen and it was. "Sherlock," he said, shifting in his seat a bit. "Have you noticed . . . do you think we've changed since we first met?"

Sherlock used both hands now, rubbing John's shoulders and then his neck. He let his fingers move up into John's hair a little, but then caught himself and moved back to his shoulders. Then he realised John had said something to him. "I don't know," he said softly.

"You notice everything," John murmured, pushing very lightly back into his hands. "I think we have."

"Probably," Sherlock said. He felt like he should stop touching John -- he was already memorising the feeling of touching John to use later in his room and that didn't seem right. But he didn't want to stop.

John shifted in his seat again, palming himself -- hoping Sherlock noticed that as well but without getting freaked out and stopping the massage. "It's not a bad thing . . . changing, I mean."

"I think. . ." Sherlock didn't know what words to say. When John shifted, Sherlock noticed that John had an erection. The first thing that flashed in his mind was that John might ask him to help like last time, but then Sherlock felt guilty that he was using John's issue for his own benefit. He stopped massaging John's shoulders but didn't pull his hands away. "John," he said. "Is your problem back? Was it the movie?"  
  
John shook his head. "It's you," he said softly. "It's because of you."

"What?" Sherlock said quietly, moving back just a little. "John, I'm sorry . . . I didn't mean to . . . I don't know why, it's just been happening . . . I'm sorry."

"Don't stop," John said quickly, turning to face him and grabbing his hands. "I-I wanted it . . . I like when you touch me." He bit his lip. "I meant what I said about change. I like you, Sherlock. I'm attracted to you."

Sherlock looked at John for a moment. "I just want to touch you all the time," Sherlock mumbled. "It makes me feel . . . I just want to all the time."

"I want to touch you all the time, too. And I want you to touch me all the time."

"John," Sherlock said, leaning in against him. "I want you to touch me. I've imagined it -- I want it to be real."

John held Sherlock's gaze as he lowered his hand and palmed Sherlock hard through his trousers. "Like this?" he asked, palming and tracing the outline of Sherlock's cock.

"Fuck, yes," Sherlock exhaled. He thought about the two of them in the water, about pushing John against the tree. "Please . . ."

John continued his movement, leaning in to kiss Sherlock's mouth as his hand moved rhythmically.

"You've changed everything," Sherlock mumbled stupidly, dropping his head to John's neck.

"But it's good . . .I hope it's good," John murmured, moaning softly as he palmed harder. It wasn't enough. He pulled at the zip and undid the button before pushing his hand in, feeling the heat through Sherlock's pants as he went back to palming and tracing.

"John, I could come right now . . . just go slow, I don't want to ruin everything," Sherlock admitted. His breath was raspy, and he moved his hand between John's leg, palming him through his jeans.

John shuddered out a breath and slowed his hand, but he kept the force of it the same. "I'd spend the rest of the night getting hard with you over and over again," he said.

"I thought you were sick of it," Sherlock said. "But when I did it to you . . . I just couldn't stop thinking about it. I've been . . . . thinking about it almost everyday since then."

"I was sick of spontaneous and ill timed erections. I'm not sick of this," he said, pushing into his hand. "Never this."

"Take off your trousers," Sherlock said. "I want to touch you again. Properly."  
  
John nodded, working open his jeans. "Should we go somewhere more comfortable?" he asked.

"Where? John, I can't even think right," Sherlock said, laughing a little. "Where should we go?"

"My room. I want you in my bed," John said, pushing into his hand again, moving his own hand on Sherlock.

"Like before," Sherlock said. He kissed John's mouth again and then tried to stand up while still staying as close as possible.

"Let's hurry and get all of these clothes off," John smiled, tugging Sherlock along to his room. While they were separated John pulled his clothes off and climbed into bed, tapping the bed for Sherlock to join him.

Sherlock stripped himself of his clothes and got into the bed next to John. "I've never been in your bed before," he said stupidly as he slid his hand over and held John again. It was different this way, lying down in bed. It felt good and right, like they should have been doing this all along.

"You did once, that night," John murmured, taking Sherlock into his hand again and stroking him properly.

"But not in it," Sherlock said. "John . . . I've been thinking about us . . . I kept dreaming . . . and I liked it so I was thinking about it even when I wasn't asleep," he was mumbling and rambling but it was like he couldn't stop talking.

"Tell me . . . what did you dream about?" John asked, grabbing the lube again so their hands could move a bit easier. It was so good to have Sherlock touching him again. 

"We were in the water and in a forest and you were kissing me," Sherlock mumbled. "Kiss me now."

John leaned in and kissed him hard, keeping his hand slow and steady.

"I've never . . . craved this so much," Sherlock said. He stroked John and kissed him again and then moved his body closer. He was almost overwhelmed -- he wanted to do everything immediately as if he were making up for all the years this wasn't a part of his world.

John kissed him again, licking into his mouth and moaning as his hand sped up. He was rolling into Sherlock, trying to get closer, needing more and more. "God Sherlock, I want you so much."

"John --" Sherlock called loudly. He squeezed shut his eyes. "I'm going to come," he said and then he did. He did his best to focus on continuing to move his hand on John but he was overwhelmed, panting and moaning loudly.

Sherlock's orgasm was even better up close, even better because John was the cause of it, the reason for it. John closed his eyes and followed him, coming into Sherlock's hand just like the other night, but it was a million times better.

Sherlock squeezed his body close to John's, wrapping his arms around him. He could barely catch his breath. "I'm sorry, John," he panted. "I'm sorry I ruined everything -- please don't leave."

"What? Sherlock, what do you mean?" John asked, wrapping his arms around him tightly.

"I don't know why I'm thinking of these things all the time and I feel like I've ruined everything, making you do this with me," Sherlock said quietly.

"You didn't make me do anything, love. I wanted to. I wanted you."

"But you're tired of erections and you say I made you get one," Sherlock said. "And the only time I even think about wanking is when I'm miserably bored. . . and since you've been here, I've never been miserable. Not even once."

"Oh, Sherlock, no. I was tired of spontaneous, random erections. I'm not tired of getting hard with you and being with you," he said.

"Oh," Sherlock said, trying to make sense of it. He wasn't very good with these kinds of things even at the best of times and now, when his brain was still cloudy with arousal, it seemed to be processing even more slowly. "Why do I want to do it all the time, do you think?" he asked.

"Because I'm sexy," John teased. "I want to do it with you all the time, too. Ever since the first day you touched me."

"You should have told me!" Sherlock said. "I've been trying to hide it so you didn't get upset." He squeezed him a little more tightly. "You're so confusing."

"You're confusing!" John laughed softly. "You should have said. I was hiding it because I thought you weren't interested in this sort of thing."

"But I was hiding it because you said you hated it!" Sherlock said. "You were going to see Ella to make them stop."

"To stop getting them at work and the shop! Not in bed with my handsome boyfriend," John smiled.

"I don't know how to be your boyfriend, John," Sherlock said, looking up at him. "Can't it just be like it was before where we spend all our time together and look out for each other but we just do this as well? I think I can do that but I don't know about the boyfriend part."

"That's what a boyfriend is," John grinned, kissing Sherlock's mouth softly.

"Oh," Sherlock said. "I guess I've never thought about it like that. Are you going to help me with this?" he asked, pulling John's hand down between his legs. Sherlock had another erection. "Maybe I have your disease," he said smiling. "It just keeps happening." He moved his hips a bit against John's hand.

John nodded. "I want to get hard with you again," he murmured. He stroked Sherlock slowly, looking down to watch his hand.

"Do you like how I do it?" Sherlock said, reaching over to hold John again. "Do you want me to do something else?" His body was already warming up again, moving with John's hand's movement.

John nodded, scooting a little bit closer. "I love how you do it. Feels incredible . . ."

"Look," Sherlock said. "I'm . . . can we do it one at a time please? I want to do it like I did the first time but . . . I want to kiss you while I do it. It's hard to concentrate when you're doing it to me as well -- I just want to close my eyes and shout and stuff."

John smiled and nodded. "Let me go first. I want to hear this shouting business," he said. He kissed Sherlock and leaned over his body to get a better angle at stroking him. 

"You'll be sorry," Sherlock said. He lay back and closed his eyes. He concentrated on John's hand.

"Oh no," John said, kissing up his jaw and to his ear, which he sucked on softly. "I want to see your face just before you call out for me..."

Sherlock thought about his dreams and about rubbing John's shoulders on the sofa. He felt John's hand on him and their movement rocking the bed. "Like that," he mumbled. "It's . . . good."

"You imagined us swimming? Naked in the water?" John asked, kissing down to his mouth again. 

"We weren't swimming . . . just in the water," Sherlock whispered. "I was touching you and you were holding onto me."

"I had my legs wrapped around you?" John smiled, his thumb now moving over Sherlock's tip, squeezing lightly, stroking faster. "That's very sexy, Sherlock."

"You were kissing me. . ." Sherlock moaned. He could feel his whole body starting to tense and knew it was going to be much longer before he exploded.

John moaned softly and kissed him now, licking into his mouth, kissing him hard and slow. 

Sherlock felt electricity filling his entire body. He lifted a hand to the back of John's head, gripping tightly. His body began to jerk on bed. He came hard into John's hand, calling "Oh god, John, oh god" over and over.

"You're so sexy, love," John murmured, stroking Sherlock through his orgasm and kissing his jaw and neck. 

It took Sherlock a moment to catch his breath. "It's strange," he finally said, letting his hand fall to John's shoulder. "It's unusual when my body's in control . . . instead of my brain. I . . . only want to be like that with you." He turned a bit on his side, kissing John's chest. He moved a hand to hold John's cock.

John lay flat and pulled Sherlock over him a bit. "Now I will shout for you," he smiled. 

Sherlock shifted and then poured some more lube in his hand. He went back to stroking John, gripping a bit harder than that first night, twisting his hand occasionally, but steadily stroking. He leaned down and kissed John's mouth hard.

John laced his fingers into Sherlock's hair, moaning as he rolled into his hand. 

"What are you thinking about?" Sherlock whispered.

"Us. Coming home from a case, fueled with adrenaline, pushing each other into walls in our haste to press together, to touch and kiss," John murmured, panting softly. 

"That's good . . ." Sherlock said. He felt a little twitch in his cock. "Will you bite my neck -- not hard but a little . . .?" He leaned over and sucked on one of John's nipples as his hand sped up.

"I'll bite anything you want," he moaned, arching into his mouth.

"John, god, you're so sexy," Sherlock said, breathing more heavily. "How have you lived here so long and I didn't notice immediately?" He kissed all over his chest and moved to his other nipple.

John ran a hand through his hair as heat flooded into his groin. "Same way I've been living here and missed you. Until you touched me," he chuckled breathlessly. "And you're supposed to be the observant one . . ."

Sherlock shifted just a little, pressing his groin against John's upper thigh. "I want you to come, John," he said. "Come in my hand . . . please, show me."

John closed his eyes and leaned up to kiss Sherlock, coming hard as he moaned against Sherlock's mouth, falling back and panting heavily. 

"God, you're beautiful like that," Sherlock said, moving his mouth to John's ear, sucking on the lobe. "I want to see that everyday."

John turned his head and found Sherlock's mouth, kissing him a bit sloppily. 

Sherlock snuggled in against him. "We're a mess," he said, smiling. "It smells like sex in here."

John laughed softly and ran his fingers through his hair again. "It does. But I don't mind," he said.   
  
Sherlock looked over at John. "Everything is different now, John," he said. "We have changed."

"Is it okay?" John asked cautiously. "It's what I want."

"It's what I want too, John," Sherlock said. "This is what I want."


End file.
